


Leash Ficlet

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:04:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off 'Dog Dean Afternoon'. Specifically, based off of one particular line, "Dogs should be kept on a leash."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leash Ficlet

“Come, boy.”

Dean reclines on his haunches, awaiting the next command from his leash holder. The floor is cold against his bare ass, causing a trail of goose bumps to wind their way up his back and tingle at his nape, bristling the little blond hairs configured there.

The faded blue eyes of his companion glare down at him, pinning him where he sits despite the pain in his legs. A warm, rough finger wanders its way below Dean’s chin and pries his face skyward, exposing his neck to the former angel now fully aware of human kinks.

Castiel stoops to lick a stripe from the hollow beneath his collarbone to the little knot beneath his ear, sucking a bruise into the skin at his neck before pulling away and leaving Dean alone and cold.

And yeah, maybe he does whimper a little.

“What did we say about whining, Dean?” Castiel asks, his tone a mocking sarcasm. “There are no treats for being a bad boy.”

Castiel’s hands slip from the leash clenched in his fists and wander to Dean’s hair, tugging it into strange and wild tufts. He kneels before Dean, those formerly azure eyes now blown black with undiluted arousal just inches from his own.

“You’ll have to be punished.”

Dean tries to remain still as Castiel squats over his lap, his cock a heavy weight between his slightly spread knees. Dean tries not to quake when Castiel’s fingers curl around that weight and propel it between his slightly spread cheeks. Dean _definitely_ does not mean to thrust upward as soon as he breaches that first tight ring of muscle, clenching and twitching as he slides down Dean’s length.

But he does twitch. He does move. He most certainly thrusts upwards. Repeatedly. And Castiel doesn’t admonish him, not right away. Cas rides it out, pulling at Dean’s hair as his back arches like a taught bow, as his hips swivel and grind downwards upon Dean.

Cas moans and groans and screeches and scratches. And, fuck, Dean would be lying to himself if he didn’t enjoy every minute of it. Because Dean never would’ve thought his angel, his nerdy holy tax accountant, would be a fucking _pro_ at S &M. So Dean moans and groans and screeches in return, keeping his hands behind his back, but otherwise letting himself be consumed by the touches and pats, the sensations overtaking his very being.

It only takes one more roll of his hips, and Dean knows he’s in trouble.

He comes with a yelp, not a particularly loud noise, but whiny enough to make Castiel still before him.

“Bad boy.”

Castiel climbs from his lap, Dean’s still spouting come leaving a little trail down his inner thigh, and returns his grip to the thin leather leash he’d been using to keep Dean under control. He rolls it in his fist once, tightening his hold. Then he retains his earlier stance, glaring down his nose through squinty eyes directly into Dean’s soul, peeling him apart with a simple expression.

“Stop your moaning,” Castiel mutters, his voice an octave above a menacing, albeit arousing, growl.

Dean complies as best he can, though his breathing is havoc, labored, and uncontrolled. Castiel’s shoulders are a rigid line as he folds his arms and continues with that ominous expression; Dean can see the light red flush that forms on his chest just before he lets go.

Dean shifts his eyes to the ground, knowing how Castiel will proceed. He watches as a bony foot steps toward him, and as the other follows it’s trajectory. He complies when the slightly sticky palm draws his jaw upwards, directly level with Cas’s very aware and very erect cock.

Before he wraps his lips around the tip, he glances up to Castiel, checking for any signs of objection. Castiel nods, as usual, and gently guides himself into Dean’s mouth, the hot weight of him filling Dean inch by inch until it becomes a little uncomfortable.

So he bobs backwards; and he bounds forward once more. Slowly, at first, but when Castiel’s fingernails scrape over his skull, he dives in with reckless abandon. Castiel buckles above him, his hands trembling where they lie on his head. When Castiel’s hips start canting into Dean’s mouth, tiny targeted little thrusts, Dean knows he’s one bob away from letting go.

So, with a clever swipe of his tongue over the slit, he enables his companion.

Thick, hot strips spurt into Dean’s mouth, pulsing warmth as they slide down his throat. He waits until Castiel is all but empty to pull off, licking off any remaining come from Cas’s sensitive member. When he finishes, he glances back up to his friend.

“Was that good?”

Castiel smiles down at him and his arms wander their way below Dean’s armpits. He’s lifted from his crouch, his sore knees protesting with the effort. Castiel’s lips crash against his own, melding and bending and teasing with tongue. He nuzzles downwards to Dean’s neck and wraps his arms around his waist.

Peppering light kisses into Dean’s jawline, Castiel mumbles his reply.

“Yes, that was good.”


End file.
